left behind
by BananaJelly
Summary: Percy Jackson's death (and everything that comes after). Percabeth-centric, but probably not what you're looking for. Reviews greatly appreciated :)
1. Chapter 1

The manner in which Percy Jackson dies is so typically _Percy_.

Of _course_ the insufferable son of the sea god would die saving his friends. Of course he would die sacrificing his life for hers.

The war is raging all around her – Greek and Roman united as one, fighting an impossible battle against giants. Bronze and gold weapons alike spearing dracaena, slashing at centaurs, disintegrating the spawn of Tartarus.

The monsters push back.

Body after demigod body falls to the ground. As she fights tooth and nail with an Imperial gold sword (it feels strange in her hands), she catches glimpses of a losing battle.

She sees Nico di Angelo's shadowy form flickering in and out of existence, his pale face more tired than she's ever seen it. Piper's charmspeak echoes in her ears, shrill and twisted with pain, and for once the honeyed words have little effect on Gaia's army. Frank is motionless, sprawled on the floor in human form; she prays that he's only blacked out. Her fellow campers, her _family_, drop like flies.

Somewhere above them Leo battles the Earth Mother herself atop his faithful bronze dragon. At one point Annabeth thinks she feels the soil ripple underneath her feet, and then there's dirt falling from the sky, heavy clods tumbling down like rain.

She doesn't know if Gaia's been defeated. She isn't sure it matters at the moment; the monster army surely doesn't seem disheartened. All she wants, all she needs, is for her and her friends to get through this intact.

Annabeth cuts down another snake woman and stumbles forward on weak legs. Someone grabs her – someone with very sharp claws and a very strong grip. There's an odd burning sensation of metal in the pit of her stomach, followed by shooting pain, and she crumples to the ground. For one frightening moment she's in a very different place: New York, moments after taking a poison dagger to save an almost-but-not-quite invincible Percy Jackson.

Her vision's getting a little foggy and the agonizing pain seems to have dulled slightly. _This is death, _she thinks; _Well, I've faced worse._

She puts a hand to her stomach and it comes away wet and red, but Annabeth can't feel a thing. _Not so painful after all._

There are screams; too many screams, but they're all muffled and all Annabeth really hears is _his_ voice.

Percy. Her boyfriend. A _hero_. She'd giggle if her lungs were working properly. Gods, he does look very heroic, doesn't he? Annabeth wants to call out to him. _Hey, Percy! You're a hero. We're heroes._

He looks for her, his gaze hungry and desperate for a last glimpse of the girl he loves. Then he finds her, and his eyes settle, calm as the sea before a storm. It's a funny sight, she thinks. He stands perfectly still as an inferno burns around him. That handsome face of his is suddenly solemn.

"I love you, Wise Girl," he says, and despite the fact that he's more torn-up skin and gaping flesh than demigod, his voice is loud and certain. There's blood staining his hands and every other square inch of exposed skin, and yet he exudes power. It's all too similar to the look he wore as he tortured a certain goddess of misery with her own venom.

He looks more god than mortal.

The last thing Annabeth hears before blacking out is a terrible, barely human roar, and then all she feels is ice on her skin and salt in her mouth. The current sweeps her away, along with the rest of the seven. It is unrestrained – pure liquid power dragging her down, down, down. She's vaguely aware of Hazel's gurgling, of Jason's broken commands as the tide pushes him under, of Piper's screams.

She realizes much later that she never did say it back.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Second chapter coming soon. I know this isn't the most well-written chapter (and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense) but it'd be greatly appreciated if you could review. Basically what happened is: Percy died using the last of his energy to kill Gaia's army with... ocean... water... Um, don't question it. :)


	2. Chapter 2

There is something distinctly, fundamentally different between a demigod dream and a real dream, Annabeth decides.

Demigod dreams are… sharper, and yet also duller. It's something like watching a blockbuster film on the big screen: immersive and with impressively high image resolution, but the demigod in question is removed from it all, from the outside looking in.

A _real_ dream – the kind that she hasn't had in quite a while – can be hazy and almost impossible to put down in words. She is no longer a mere spectator; she is a participant, the dream pushing against her pull, responding to her every whim.

And that's how she knows that this right now is not a demigod dream, because Percy's lips are on hers and she can't think.

His presence is overwhelming, in the best kind of way. He is warm and safe and comforting where it's bitterly cold. Annabeth tastes salt on her tongue and pulls closer.

Her hand drags up the back of his neck and into his tousled hair; she adjusts the tilt of her head so as to better feel him, the heat of his skin and the movement of his muscles. Her brain feels like mush and she couldn't speak if she wanted to. Nothing matters, nothing at all, except that he's _here_.

It does not last anywhere close to long enough. Without warning, Percy's pulling away, gently pushing her off him. Annabeth catches a fleeting glimpse of sad, sea green eyes. They hold neither pity nor regret; she can read those eyes better than anyone, and the message they send is loud and clear: _I'm so sorry._

Then Annabeth wakes up, and everything goes to hell.

* * *

><p>Piper is standing at the foot of her bed. Annabeth's eyes are heavy with sleep and exhaustion (and maybe just a tad too much nectar), but it's definitely the daughter of Aphrodite who stands before her, albeit a bit banged up: her brown skin is riddled with bruises and her right arm is in a makeshift sling.<p>

Piper looks anywhere and everywhere but at her gray eyes.

The room comes into focus, and Annabeth realizes where she is: the Big House. Home.

She looks down at herself and blanches. Her right leg is in a cast, a white hospital gown has taken the place of her orange shirt, and there's a nectar IV drip attached to her wrist. There's… dried _mud_ caking her arms, which can only be the work of one Gleeson Hedge. She could say she's had it worse – if it weren't for her stomach. The pain is a persistent, blunt ache that spreads throughout her body, and it's only just registering, her nerves coming to life with each ripple of agony. Annabeth can just make out the outline of the thick bandages spooled around her waist underneath the papery fabric of the gown. Medical science has never been her forte, but she thinks it's fair to say that it's a miracle she's alive.

She wants to get her bearings as soon as possible, so she tries her best to tamp the pain down, gritting her teeth and curling her hands into fists.

The row of cots stretching out on either side of her, housing both beat-up Roman and Greek demigods, could only mean one thing: they've made it through alive. They've won. They've beat the odds and crushed the giants and sent the big bad Earth Mother right back into her peaceful slumber. She remembers the fighting, the scream of war ringing in her ears, a knife in her stomach, and then…

_Oh_.

All Annabeth can think is: _send me back to my dream._

But that's not going to happen, so she clears her throat – gods, it feels like somebody scrubbed it down with sandpaper and rinsed with acid – and croaks, "Piper."

Those stunning kaleidoscope eyes finally meet her own. They are guilty and tentative and, above all, sorrowful. Annabeth does not want to think of what this means for her; for _Percy._

In the back of her mind she already knows.

Piper walks to the side of her bed, her stance cautious. The air between them is delicate as hollow glass, and Annabeth has a feeling it will shatter if she takes one more step.

She does. Piper McLean places a warm hand on her pale one, and yet Annabeth doesn't really feel it. There's the thrumming of her heart in her ears and panic in her throat, but none of the warmth of a soothing hand. By some phenomenon, she manages to whisper in a tone that's part hope and part hopelessness: "Percy?"

Piper shakes her head so slightly it's nearly imperceptible. Her fingers curl around Annabeth's, holding on tight, but right now there is absolutely nothing and nobody that could anchor her to the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all my reviewers, especially MissLoremasterSarah, who always leaves great feedback :) I'm back after a few incredibly stressful weeks, sorry.

* * *

><p>Annabeth Chase knows all about grief.<p>

Her first lesson comes from Thalia Grace. Someone that Annabeth had always believed was impenetrable, incorrigible, as immortal as the gods themselves.

So what if Thalia Grace _did_ come back from the dead? Seven-year-old Annabeth certainly didn't know that.

Now, lying alone in a bunk with her knees drawn tight against her chest, she wonders if demigods are cursed with an eidetic memory on top of everything else. When she was younger, Thalia's dying moments would flood her brain if she dared to close her eyes for a moment too long: vivid snapshots of spiky black hair matted with blood, blue eyes snap-crackle-sparking with hot energy, gold dust meandering through the air like snow… and a tall, imposing pine where her best friend once stood.

She can't linger. She either faces the nightmares with bare, clinical detachment, or doesn't face them at all.

Next was Bianca di Angelo. Annabeth had never even met the girl, but Bianca had died on a quest to find _her_, in a sense. Afterwards, when she saw for herself seen the way Nico's bright eyes solidified into stone, his round face reshaping itself into gaunt cheeks and sharp angles, she'd locked herself in Athena's cabin and cried, because what could she do, _what could she have done?_

There are more names, each one seared irrevocably onto her tongue. Annabeth remembers thinking that they would prepare her. But nothing prepared her for Luke Castellan's death.

He had killed. He had tried to kill_ her, _for gods' sake. He'd devoted his life to destroying the only home she's ever known.

And yet watching his hollow form splayed across the floors of the celestial palace, like nothing more than a discarded puppet, had toppled something inside of her – something that had already been swaying precariously for years. Needless to say, Annabeth had blamed herself for it. Of course she did.

_Family_, she'd whispered to him.

Yes, Annabeth Chase knows all about grief.

* * *

><p>Now she has one more name to add to the list.<p>

Percy Jackson.

The name rolls off her lips and she's numb all over.

She doesn't remember the Athena cabin being this _cold_.

Perseus Jackson. Seaweed Brain. The son of the sea god. The boy who turned down immortality. Hero.

_Detachment_. _Objectivity. _

Time does not pass; it comes in brief, fleeting spurts of motion before waning back into inky darkness.

At one point Nico comes to see her. She can make out every rib underneath the papery material of his baggy clothing. He blinks at her once, twice, and tells her Percy Jackson will make it to Elysium.

Annabeth does not reply.

A day later, it's Jason Grace, the golden boy.

It could have been him instead.

He doesn't look quite so heroic anymore. His eyes glisten as he rattles off some carefully prepared speech about death, and sacrifice, and bravery. He chokes up halfway through and shakes his head, at a loss for words. Piper stands by his side, gripping his hand too tight.

They leave soon after.

When she sees Hazel, she thinks the diminutive young girl looks smaller than ever in her orange shirt. Her face is puffy from tears and bruises. She immediately crushes Annabeth in a fierce hug, whispering, "It's over. We're… we're here for you, if you need us. Always."

Frank, on the other hand, is trying to put on a brave face. He keeps his gaze on the floor as he tells her, "He was the bravest person I ever met."

She can feel herself fading. It's like someone has cut into her flesh and now everything inside is ebbing out.

Clarisse La Rue makes her eat after one week. Chiron forces her to go outside, to breath in strawberry-scented air and feel the sunlight warm her toes. The numbness does not leave her skin.

Leo comes back from the dead eight days after. There's laughter, happy tears, and rejoicing. Annabeth smiles and forces herself to feel _delighted_, because that is what she should be feeling. Her friend is alive.

Except no matter how hard she tries, all she can imagine is a different boy coming home to Camp Half-Blood.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>By the way... anyone looking forward to a twist in the story? Yes or no?


	4. Chapter 4

"Annabeth."

She likes the way her name is spoken. No pity, no underlying whisper of _are you going to break if I touch you?_

When she glances up from the blueprints, she's not surprised to find Reyna.

The warrior looks good. Her olive skin is glowing with health. Those sharp coal-black eyes are guarded as ever, but there's a calming quality to them.

"I heard the news." Not an apology, an acknowledgement.

"Yeah," she replies, curt and brusque.

Reyna's eyes drag up and down her sickly frame. She wonders what Reyna's thinking. There's no judgment in her expression, and Annabeth is liking her more by the second.

"Walk with me," offers the daughter of Bellona.

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><p>There are three certainties Annabeth can rely on when it comes to Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano.<p>

One. She is a woman who knows suffering.

Two. She is a soldier - a leader, someone who understands how to put her people above all else.

Three. She and Annabeth are more alike than either of them would care to admit.

The pair is silent as they walk the winding stone paths of Camp Half-Blood. Like always, it's a flawless day, the skies heavy with late-August heat. Perfect for a swim in the lake or a lazy picnic on the dewy grass.

Young campers – gods, they can't be more than nine or ten – engage in a vigorous game of tag while a counselor watches over them. By the strawberry fields, she spots Hazel and Nico sprawled out on a blanket, lost in easy conversation.

There are a dozen satyrs sitting in a wide-spaced circle on the lawn, playing a dreamy tune on their panpipes, and she notices that Grover is among them. Despite the pretty song, she's suddenly overcome with a feeling akin to being submerged in silence. She zeroes in on a small fern sprouting from the earth as it sways and dances to the beat; its fronds are very, very green.

For an odd, guilty moment, Annabeth imagines lowering herself into the deliciously cold, fresh water, sunbathing in buttery warm light, maybe toasting s'mores over a pirouetting purple flame –

She blinks and the spark crepitates back into ash. Her vision takes on a familiar grayish tinge. The satyrs' music doesn't feel quite so enchanting anymore.

Grover hasn't seen her, and she's not looking forward to facing him anytime soon. She remembers the days when Grover couldn't play the pipes to save his life. Her throat suddenly feels tight and sour, and Annabeth jerks herself back to the present.

She can feel Reyna's eyes on her, and this time there's a tick of annoyance in her throat.

"So what did you want to tell me?"

"I have a proposition for you."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Reviews make me work much, much faster. Just putting that out there.

Next chapter - Reyna's offer, Sally Jackson, Grover, and we get more of the Seven :) I promise it'll be a _lot_ longer. And Percy's in it... sort of.


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